Holy Saturday 2022
We were all taught about Palm Sunday, when we as children took our turn laying down palm branches, just as the people of Jerusalem did when Jesus Christ entered the city. We were all taught about Good Friday, when our Savior sacrificed himself for our sake. We were all taught about Easter Sunday, when Christ resurrected from the dead, physically and spiritually, fulfilling his promise to us—that he would finally conquer evil.
Few of us, however, were likely taught about Holy Saturday, when Christ was dead—when followers like us could only be still, wait, hope, and not know what their fate held.
Today, we get to enjoy the knowledge that Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, long before we celebrate Easter Sunday each year. We get to anticipate ritually saying to one another, “He is risen!”, “He is risen indeed!” We get to rush through Holy Saturday—buying groceries for Easter dinner, planting plastic Easter egg shells filled with candy and quarters throughout our yards, setting out our outfits we’ll wear to church the next day—without realizing its significance in Holy Week.
Without knowing, without remembering, we might miss out on experiencing the tender grief and pregnant hope of Holy Saturday. We might miss out on experiencing the fullness of the joy of Easter Sunday.
We invite you to join us in meditating upon this unique day as we prepare ourselves for Easter Sunday.
Imagine being a follower of Jesus Christ in 33 AD, outside the court of Pilate in the early morning. You’ve come to believe in this man, Jesus, that he is who he says he is—the Son of God, the redeemer of sins. You’ve witnessed miracles at his hand. You’ve heard his prophecy, of death, of life, though it doesn’t make sense, misty in your mind. “Be killed, and be raised again?”1 “They will kill him, and on the third day he will rise?”2 And now he’s being tried for blasphemy.
Astonishingly, the people around you have asked Pilate to free the man Barabbas—who instigated an insurrection, who murdered people—in place of Jesus. And Pilate has handed Jesus over to the people to be stripped, mocked, flogged, and crucified.
You can’t believe it. You’re devastated. And yet, you can’t stop it from happening.
It’s not even noon, and the sun is failing to shine. The sky looms above. Fear rushes cooly across your skin, into your bones. After some time, you catch a glimpse of Jesus leaving the court, bloodied, exhausted, being forced to carry a rough, wooden cross across his bare back.
Men are jeering. Women are wailing. The crowd is following Jesus to Golgotha, the hill reminiscent of a skull.
Now Jesus has been nailed to his cross. You hear the thief on a cross next to him yell at him, “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!”3 He can, can’t he? Wouldn’t this be the ultimate miracle? The greatest proof that he is who he says he is? Still, after several excruciating hours, you hear Jesus cry out to the sky, then watch as the life leaves his body.
Doubt sinks heavy into your heart.
Jesus is dead. The Son of God is dead. Your savior is dead.
It’s Friday afternoon. The sun is starting to set. Jesus’s body has been taken down from the cross, and Joseph of Arimathea is burying it in the tomb he had meant for himself. The women are preparing oils for Jesus’s body, but they will not be able to honor him until after the sabbath.
The sabbath is about to begin, and it will last until Saturday night. So now you will do as God once commanded, and you will rest. This time is different, though. This time, you are full of grief. This time, you are wondering if Jesus is who he said he is, if he’s let you down, if you have a right to feel let down. This time, you will simply be still, because your heart and spirit cannot rest.
All you can do is wait, hope.
Now in 2022, it would be easy for us to forget about Holy Saturday. It would be easy for us to not sit with doubt, with grief, with unfulfilled hope. It would be easy for us to treat Holy Saturday as a warm-up to Easter Sunday, choosing the triumph and elation of knowing over the being still in the disenchantment of not knowing.
We may not have been there at Jesus Christ’s death, but we all know doubt, grief, and unknowing. We lose a job. We go through a breakup. We get sick. We lose our home. Friends and family go to war. A neighbor gets abducted. We lose a loved one. And we don’t know what will happen.
From the smallest doubts and griefs to the largest, they’re all integral to our experience as human beings on this earth. And it’s important we make space for them.
This Holy Saturday, let’s make space for the unknowing. Let’s make space for the grief. Let’s be still, and know that God is God—even when all seems lost.
PSALM 46
God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
he lifts his voice, the earth melts.
The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress.
Come and see what the LORD has done,
the desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease
to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
He burns the shields with fire.
He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.”
NOTES
1. Luke 9:22
2. Luke 18:33
3. Luke 23
